Sand on the neck.

Sand on the tongue.

Sand in my eyes.

Sand in my lungs.

I crawl through the black sand as my body forces me to be translucent.

The unrequited love of a wasteland,

A beautifully barren harmony that’s beautifully muted.

Is this how I die?

Colorless under a white sun,

My faulty ideals of colorism,

I thought it was a battle that I won.

Seeing myself in the sand,

As it’s killing me slow,

I realize that it’s my essence leaving my body at the door.

Who’s ever heard of a metaphysical dilemma?

Where you’re beautifully pigmented by nature,

But labeled as a sinner?

We throw it all away believing that their beauty is our standard,

Set up by demons who get high off of deceiving us.

No.

I just made a beautifully tragic mistake that earned me a congratulations and a gold star on my face.